Becoming Bad Horse
by CeffylDrwg
Summary: How did an average thoroughbred get to be "The Thoroughbred of Sin"?
1. Thoroughbred of Cinder Cones

Of Cinder Cones

I glared at each member of the group seated in front of me: Fake Thomas Jefferson, Dead Bowie, Professor Normal, Tie-Die, Fury Leika, Snake Bite, and our newest member, Dr. Horrible. For someone with a PhD in Horribleness, he didn't seem to have his heart in being evil anymore.

I examined the Doctor. His goggles, perched on top of his head, and his crimson lab coat certainly made him appear genuinely evil… from a distance. Upon closer examination, I could see that his eyes looked lifeless and dead. They were the eyes of someone who got everything he ever wanted only to find he didn't want it anymore. _I know that feeling_, I thought.

XXX

I was born May 29 many years ago in a stable typical of a typical horse. I was christened "Cinder" (race name= Of Cinder Cones). Like my name, there was nothing particularly special about me; I was a plain-old black thoroughbred, destined to grow up, lose a few races, and, if I was lucky, start my second career doing training level dressage or hunter schooling shows with some teenage girl.

Somewhere between the seemingly endless days at the racetrack, I realized that the path I was on was not one that I cared to follow. The night before what was to be my last race ever, I resolved that one day _I_ was going to be an achiever, like Gandhi. I knew that the first step to ever achieving anything was getting off the race track so, like any aspiring achiever would do, I plotted my first act of badassery.

ooo

My jockey steered me into the gate, where we waited for the race to start. My jockey, I vaguely remember his name being Jorge or George or something, gritted his teeth and waited for the ride of his life. _If only he knew_.

The gate opened and every horse shot out like a bullet from a revolver. Every horse but me. I planted my feet and refused to leave the gate. George began to frantically whack me with his riding crop but still I refused to go. One of the guys on the ground near the gate tried to help him get me out of the gate. He grabbed a whip and made for my haunches. I kicked out with all of my strength, nailing him directly in the chest. I then bolted out of the gate and bucked like a bull fresh out of the shoot. To give George some credit, he did stay on for the first four or so bucks before flying off like a rag doll.

My next step was to run as fast as I could along the track. The humans had other plans for me, however, and attempted to head me off as I ran forward. The first person who stood in my way I managed to dodge. The second person was not so lucky. Technically it was _his _fault. _He _jumped in front of me, but still I was blamed for the injuries he sustained (2 broken ribs and a bruise the size of a watermelon). The third person, however, was a little better prepared for me than his two predecessors. I took one look at the huge tranquilizer gun in his hands and changed course away from him.

I made it almost completely around the track before I felt a sharp pain in my side. I swung my head around to see a dart from the tranquilizer gun stuck in my side.

"Oh horse feathers," was all I had time to think before I was down. The last thing I heard before I blacked out was the announcing over the loud speaker:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, that was the Thoroughbred, 'Of Cin-'"


	2. Ceffyl Drwg

**AUTHORS NOTE: Wow, no reviews? I almost didn't want to post this, but it was already written. I'll have you know though that this is all I have written so far. So if you want more, review. If you want me to stop, review. If you want me to dance around my room singing the beginning of "Brand New Day" at insanely fast speeds, well… reviewing probably won't do much good either way, I tend to burst out in song when it pleases me.**

**PS: Ceffyl Drwg is Welsh. I do not speak Welsh. It's a long story…**

**ooo**

I woke up in my familiar stall. The people standing outside it, however, were unknown to me. The one facing me prodded the other until he turned around and murmured, "So the ceffyl drwg has risen."

"It appears so," answered the other.

The first man, a stout Welshman, called over my owner from across the barn. "I'll give you $150 for the colt," the Welshman told my owner.

"Nonsense! That colt is worth far more than that. His superb pedigree and track record deserve at least $1000!" my owner argued. I couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that he never wanted to lose any money, even if it meant missing out on a chance to dispose of a "vicious" horse.

"That may be so, but his temper deserves a bullet through the head. And my clients in Mexico refuse to pay more than the already generous amount of $150."

"I already don't like the idea of selling my colt to the Mexican Rodeo and I sure as heck don't like the idea of being practically robbed in the process!" my owner shouted.

"Think of it this way: get $150 dollars now, save a $10,000 law suit later when your bronc kills someone," the Welshman replied. "Plus," he added with a creepy smile that gave me the willies, "We will take the greatest of care of your precious animal."

For a moment, I thought my owner was going to have the creepy man and his associate thrown out, but instead, I watched in amazement as he simply grabbed the nearest groom and quietly ordered, "Prepare Cinder Cones for transport."

I was the only one who saw the cruel smile on the Welshman's face and the evil glint in his eye at these words. His partner reached out his hand to stroke my nose, a hand that I promptly snapped at with my teeth. The owner of the hand swore a string of profanities in Spanish and spat at me, but the Welshman simply chuckled, "You'll be perfect in your new career, my little Ceffyl Drwg."


	3. Caballo Malo

**Sorry this took so long. It was my first story and I wasn't actually expecting anyone to read it. I guess I have to get writing. **

**NOTE: I know that most bucking horses are bred to be broncos. But SOMETIMES they are sold into it. And I know that I thoroughbred would be a bad choice for a bucking horse because they are so finely built. That will be addressed later on. Still, I will admit I know nothing about the rodeo so if there are any glaring mistakes, feel free to point them out.**

I fought the two men tirelessly, stubbornly refusing to load into the trailer. They tried all the tricks in the book: they blindfolded me; they attempted to load me backwards; and, finally, they chose to drug me again and pull me inside.

Before coming to this conclusion, they had a dialog that went something along the lines of:

"Hurry up and get the nag in the trailer!"

"He's a thousand pound animal! What do you want me to do? Pick him up and carry him like that ginger girl with the awful pigtails?"

"What?" asked to Welshman, clearly at a loss when it came to his partner's attempt at a pop culture reference.

"Never mind," the other man grunted. "But seriously, if he won't go in, what do you want me to do? Ride him across the nation?"

"Oh just call the groom and have him put under. We're already way off schedule."

The other man grunted in response and strolled over to the groom, who returned with a wicked syringe.

I remember thinking to myself, '_I am not going to like this_' before the tranquilizer kicked in and I could no longer think clearly.

ooo

I woke up in an unfamiliar stall and had no recollection of how I had gotten there. '_This has been happening to me a lot_' I thought to myself before I navigated around the stall to figure out my perimeters.

It turns out that I had already seen all there was to see. The "stall" was a metal box, just big enough that my rump didn't hit the back when I stood perfectly still. I quickly assessed whether or not I could turn around (I could) and whether or not there was food or clean water (there was). After I was content (or as content as I could be in such a new and weird setting) I began to look around.

Across from me was a huge, skinny stallion. When he noticed me looking he immediately pinned his ears and snorted menacingly at me. I snorted back and raised my neck up high, attempting to assert my dominance. Upon failing this, I decided to see what lied to my sides.

To my immediate right was a tiny pinto stallion, shifting his feet nervously and weaving his head up and down. To my left was a filthy brown colt, obsessively cribbing on the bars of his stall.

'_Lovely,_' Ithought to myself._ 'I'm surrounded by a motley crew of lunatics.'_

I have no idea how much time passed before my first "assignment". The days were all the same: each morning receive food, stand endlessly in my stall (occasionally attempting to make polite conversation with the crazies I was surrounded with before giving up on such a hopeless cause), and receive more food at night. The moment the stranger arrived with a rope halter and stud chain, I realized I didn't care what he planned on doing with me, as long as it saved me from this monotony. Later, I would learn that this initial monotony would be something I would often wish I could return to.

The man led me to a huge arena. The stands were filled with hundreds of spectators, cheering and jeering at the men attempting to stay on out-of-control bulls. I attempted to turn my head in all directions, taking in all the sites to see at this grand event. The surly man holding my lead responded to my curiosity by yanking on the chain fastened around my nose.

When we reached the corrals, there was a man holding a clip board at the gate. My handler grunted to him and the gate-keeper looked me over and chuckled, "What have we here? A new edition to our family? I sure hope he has more spirit than the last one you brought us." With this last remark he raised his eyebrows at my handler and then turned back to me.

"Welcome to the rodeo Caballo Malo."

ooo

I worked as a bucking bronco for a few weeks before I finally started feeling the ill effects.

At first it wasn't bad; it was almost fun. I could spend my days bucking off crazy "cowboys" and not get schooled or scolded for misbehaving. But as time when on, I started to understand why there was no other thoroughbreds currently employed in my line of work.

The ground was hard under my hooves and the constant pounding caused my legs to slowly break down. If it wasn't for the fact that I knew I was slowly killing myself, I would have been content to be a rodeo bronc for the rest of my life.

My salvation came in an incredibly unexpected way one day while I was quietly munching my dinner in the corral.

My ears pricked to the sound of three voices coming from just beyond the corral. Normally, nothing can pull me away from my food, but there was something different about those voices. After quickly glancing at my herd mate, a grey quarter horse named Humo, and determining the chances of him stealing my food if I left (quite low, since he was well aware that I could and did kick his butt any day) I gingerly hobbled towards noise.

To my great surprise, I discovered that the source of the noise was three Americans dressed as Cowboys singing quite loudly.

_Rodeos! Rodeos! Rodeos! __We__ Love Rodeos!_

_They travel across the nation! A source of pride and fun!_

_A cause for celebration! Here'ye Ev'ryone! _

_This is our proclamation! Soon the games- they will begin_

_Saddle Up! There's no recourse! It's High-Ho Silver! Shout until you're hoarse!_

Two of the cowboys looked rather pleased with themselves at the conclusion of this song, but the third was looking less amused.

"You realize that song is bloody awful, don't you? The rodeo will never hire us to promote any of their events with horrendous material like that!"

"Hey, there's no need to be rude!" the second cowboy shouted back, sounding hurt, "I worked hard on that song!"

The first cowboy nodded, "I thought it was rather good myself!"

"You also thought 'Muskrat Love' was the greatest addition to music history since the invention of the banjo!" The third one snapped back.

'_I'd help you if I could,´_ I thought to myself, '_I've often found myself pretty talented at rhymes_'

"What did you say Gary?" asked the first cowboy.

"I didn't say nothing," the second (Gary) responded. "I thought that was you."

"I didn't say anything. Did you Tom?" the first cowboy inquired.

"I have nothing to say to you folks," Tom responded, "Not after you roped me into joining your three man chorus and then forcing me to sing this terrible song."

'_That's weird,' _I thought, '_it's almost like they can hear me.'_

"Okay! Someone is seriously there! Who is it? And more importantly, did you like my song?" the first cowboy called out.

"Shut up Jerry! You're embarrassing yourself!" Tom snapped.

"No, I heard him too that time," Gary bellowed.

'_It's me,' _I called out to them, '_I'm the only other one here.'_

Slowly, all three of them turned to stare at me.

"That's just freaky," Jerry announced, in awe, "It's a talking horse."

"No it's not," Tom responded stubbornly, "I can prove it. You, horsie, if you can understand me, rear up."

I've never been one to ignore a direct order so I willingly obliged.

"Dudes, I'm pretty sure we're like the first people ever to talk to a horse," Gary uttered with utter amazement.

The three blankly stared at me for a few moments before looking at each other.

"That's sick."

**NOTE**: **I wasn't really all that pleased with this chapter but I felt I owed it to the two people who reviewed me to write more. I tried to make it a lot longer than the other ones**


	4. Death Whinny

The three cowboys quickly broke me out of my "prison". I don't know what they thought they were going to do with me. Maybe they had circus aspirations. Or maybe they thought that we would make a classy street act.

I'm not quite sure what changed their ideas of using me to make a quick buck. I like to think that it was my charisma and good looks. More than likely it was the fact that I assured them all that I could kill them with my mind.

For the first week or so, I think we had a pretty good relationship. Tom, however, did not share this opinion.

"Hey horsie," Tom barked at me. We had been together for 8 days and were back in America. "We brought you to California and everything. But dude, if you don't start paying up, we're going to have to cut you loose."

I raised a hypothetical eyebrow at him (can you believe that horses don't have real eyebrows? Such a waste; imagine how much more expressive we could be if only… sorry, I got side tracked for a moment there). He quickly backed down at my menacing death whiney. Oh, I like that… death whiney… I think I'll start using that… where was I? I really need to work on my focusing issues.

As much as I hated to admit it, Tom did have a point. What was I going to do with my life? I was a horse on the run, owned by no one, the world in my saddlebags.

It was at that moment my life changed.

*dramatic pause*

I heard a scream from across the way and I quickly galloped towards the noise, not waiting for my cowboys to scramble up. What I found shocked me: a masked man was holding a woman at gun point.

"Hand over the purse and I won't shoot," his gruff voice ordered. The woman threw the purse and began to run. The man just chuckled and leafed through the purse. He dumped the contents of the purse onto the ground and hung the bag on a tree. Then he began to walk away, whistling with his hands in his pockets.

I couldn't understand; why would he go through all the trouble of robbing a woman at gun point just to walk away with nothing. I must have made some sort of noise because the man whirled around with his gun pointed forward. When he saw me he lowered his weapon and chuckled. "Well what have we here?" he laughed and pulled off his mask. "Well come here. Let's have a look. I won't hurt you." He held out his hand as if he wanted me to sniff it. I snorted to let him know that I was not in fact a dog and examined his face. He had sandy blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes. He certainly didn't look like the sort of man who would hold an innocent girl at gun point.

He must have seen me quizzically glancing at him because he pointed a thumb behind him and chuckled, "Oh that? That was just a bit of fun. Can't stay evil if you don't practice." He tapped the side of his head. "Look at me, talking to a horse." He stroked his chin. "But you look like you'd make a nice loyal steed. I could go for that; a cool black mask and swift, ebony horse. Very Zorro-esk. How would you like to be evil?"

**Sorry this is so short. I'm not happy with this chapter at all. Not really with this story either. I haven't decided if I'm going to keep going. Review and let me know please. :D If one person wants me to finish it, I will. If no one does then that explains itself. And if someone wants to know what happens but doesn't want to suffer through who knows how many more chapters of this story, I can make an "epilogue" where I just explain what was supposed to happen.**


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